The waves lapped at the shores and roared against cliffs, full moon peaking at the center of the sky like a sentient being watching over the black blue deep. Midnight dawned and the light cast an eerie white glow over the green foaming water. Jason's feet kept a slow gait across the sands, footsteps even without a stumble or spray of sand from his boots. The water always gave him a small sense of calm, a way to take a deep breath before the anxieties and depression and anger welled up again to consume him.
He didn't run like he thought he would have, his feet instead stomping away from the side entrance to the mountain and toward the shoreline, away from his bike. He didn't feel like riding the long way back to Gotham anyways, he needed the break. A moment to think, or maybe a moment to just be blank. He wished it would just stop screaming so much sometimes.
Without his armored chest plate and helmet on, he could hear the crashing of gentle waves against the sands. The pull and tug of the water as it came and then receded back towards itself. The moon shone down and he could make out large pieces of driftwood scattered about the beaches. Chunks of seaweed tangled together and the random shards of small garbage that were always inevitably found.
Soon he sat, slumped, down on a larger log of smoothed down white wood. Watching the waves roll and retreat and contemplating his choice. He couldn't do it, the Justice League, the Titans, even the Outlaws. He couldn't surround himself with people he didn't respect, take orders from them on a constant basis. Hell, no. But he was so tired of being alone, of being by himself. Being the only one it seemed to bear his type of burden life had given him.
Hours may have passed, he's not entirely sure, what he does know is that he needs to start moving, staying still for too long drives him half insane sometimes. Pale blue eyes cross over the shoreline once more, witnessing a piece of driftwood washing up onto the sands, a nest of kelp attached to a limb. And he almost turned to leave, if he hadn't seen a hand sticking out from the ocean debris.
Duty to help above his every instinct, he booked it to the edge of the water, boots slipping and sliding over the wet sands as he scrambled to the giant mass of kelp and wood. There was indeed a hand, attached to a forearm. A very pale and almost blue forearm.
"Fuck..." Hands pulling and ripping into the wet mass, needing to see if there was an entire body attached. Jason ripped and tugged until locks of dark, wet hair was found, then a shoulder and finally a torso and face. His fingers felt against her neck, against the cord there. It was thready, barely there. "Fuck!"
He tugged harder, laying the body on the mushy sand, laying his head on a chest and praying he could hear a heart beat. Hardly over his own rapid breathing, but there. He didn't pay any attention to anything but what his hands and mouth were doing on instinct. Pump, breath, pump, breath. CPR was a bitch...
The woman, tangled in seaweed and ocean debris still, hadn't taken a breath yet, Jason wondered if she had swallowed too much water, and he was too late, nothing he could do. But he kept going, kept doing chest compressions, kept pushing air into her lungs. He wouldn't give up until there was no longer a heartbeat...
Coughing and sputtering, sea water retched onto the sand and gasping shaggy breaths were taken. Alive, she was alive. Jason held her up as she wheezed and trembled, her lips blue from the frigid night water and being soaked to the bone. Then nothing from her, she went limp. From exhaustion or stress he's not sure, but she does have a steady heartbeat now, albeit erratic still. As he took a deep breath and was ready to stand, take her to the closest infirmary he could, he noticed something.
His hand reached out and tugged some of the ocean gunk off her torso, a flash of red burned into his eyes. That was his bat, his symbol.
"What the hell...?"